


Permission

by LSDalice



Category: The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb)
Genre: Dom!Peter, F/M, Light BDSM, Smut, Sub!Gwen, pls be gentle, this is my first fanfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-06-03 05:06:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6597877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LSDalice/pseuds/LSDalice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gwen doesn't know what it is about the suit that drives her so wild. Set in TASM1.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've seen a lot of Dom!Gwen here, which is amazing. But I thought I would try my hand at some Dom!Peter. This is my first work, so please be kind. (But for real lay that constructive criticism on me tho.)

She fucking loves the suit, Gwen thinks, as she catches a glimpse of her vigilante boyfriend’s latest work on the evening news. She cups the warm ceramic of her soup bowl with clammy hands, index finger absent-mindedly picking at a chip in the side. A news helicopter camera follows Spider-Man for a few blocks until he’s just a lithe swinging figure in the distance, and a generic newscaster voice narrates the day’s events. He seems to really have outdone himself this time- taking down six criminals just tonight. That was what- twenty this week alone? And it was only Thursday. That’s twice as many as usual! But when the screen transitions to a still of Spider-Man in action, mid-swing, with his arms raised and his legs flexed outward, she stops thinking about numbers entirely.

  
It takes a reprimanding tsk from her mother before she realizes that her mouth has been hanging open. Gwen snaps it shut a little too fast, and slurps down her soup before her mother can ask what was wrong.

  
But of course she knows, anyways. “He does seem rather productive lately. I wonder if he’s in a mood?”

  
Gwen _mmhm’s_ in agreement. Peter certainly had been busy- she hadn’t seen him outside of class all week, and he was hardly returning her texts at all. If anyone was in a mood, it was her.

  
“He’s out of control, he’s getting sloppy. We’ll have him soon,” Captain Stacy declares. No one comments. Agree or disagree, the family knew not to keep the topic on Spider-Man for too long, lest her father get in a bad mood of his own. The boys start talking about something harmless- a baseball game or something, anything to change the topic.  
Gwen manages to knock back her soup, and pushes her grilled cheese towards her black hole of a little brother, suddenly not very hungry. He takes it with delight, and she’s surprised he even manages to chew before swallowing.

  
“I have to finish my papers,” She picks up her dishes and leans across the table to plant a kiss on her mother’s head. “Thank you, Mom.” Mrs. Stacy is too focused on distracting her father from the news to argue.

She slinks towards her room, because she really does have to do those papers. But she catches a glimpse of red and blue on the television, and she can’t help but notice how her heart races whenever she sees him. Perhaps a shower first- a cold one.  
  


* * *

 

Gwen sighs and allows herself to fall backwards onto the bed, arms folded over the top of her night gown. She lets her head fall to the side, and reaches for her phone. Ten-thirty. Her essays were done, brain fried, and she was ready for some much-needed sleep.

There's a _tap-tap_ at the window.

She shot up like a rocket.

Peter was on the fire escape, crouched in his typical fashion, looking at her.

 _Fucking Peter_. She hisses through her teeth and stood, stomping towards the window and flinging it open for him before turning around and marching back towards her bed. “You ignore me all week and think it’s okay to just show up-”

“Shut up.” He grabs her hand and quickly spins her around, taking her by the shoulders and pressing her against the wall next to her window. She noticed that his mask is pushed half-way up before he crushes his mouth to hers. She’s stunned at first, confused as to why he could be pissed at her. But his hands and his body and they haven’t had sex in weeks and _the suit._

She can feel the rubbery veins press against her warm skin, and the rough material of the suit as his hands travel down her arms, to rest against her hips. “I’ve been busy.” He whispers, quickly pressing his mouth back to hers. She remembers her hands are still at her sides, and she places them on his chest, spreading her fingers and feeling the taut muscle there.

“I’ve noticed,” She agrees between kisses, not sure whether she should push him away or pull him closer. She tries to keep calm, though her mind is racing. Something about him is different. She’s seen Peter in the suit before, obviously, but they’ve never been this intimate with it still on. Especially not with him so disheveled and winded and half-masked. Is this kinky, she wonders? The suit still on, paired with the fact that they’re sneaking around.  
He presses his body more firmly against her, and she feels the swell of his erection against her belly. “Excited? Are you expecting something for gracing me with your presence?” She teases, sliding her hands down to his forearms and taking a nip at his bottom lip. He grips her with one hand, and his other strays lower, skimming the back of her bare thigh. She sucks in a breath and shudders, anticipating his touch.

“I bet you’re already wet,” He breathes, almost inaudible. His fingers move up underneath the hem of her gown experimentally. Her breath catches in her throat.

“O-oh?” She retorts. That’s it, comeback of the year. But she’s reeling, and she doesn’t know whether it’s his new-found confidence in his dirty talk, or just the fact that they haven’t been intimate in a while, but she knows he’s right. Or at least, she knows that he knows.

“You’ve been dripping since you saw the news,” His other hand follows the first, and he’s gripping her by the backs of her thighs now, pulling her impossibly closer, mouth on her neck, on her shoulders, on every place he can reach. “Can I see?” A hint of nervousness betrays his confidence, and immediately she realizes this is an act.  
It takes her seconds to connect the dots. He’s been bagging criminals left and right, playing hard to get all week. The sudden elaborate dirty-talk. The new found aggressiveness that Peter would never normally have.

“Are we roleplaying?” She whispers, looking up at him quizzically.

“I- uh…” He pauses, looking up, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was um…if that’s okay with you?” Ah, that was more like Peter.  
This was…interesting. Peter never asked for sex. He might joke about it, and he might stare at her luridly until she asked him for sex, but he never once had brought up or even hinted at it for fear of pressuring her into something. So for him to initiate something like this, it must mean that he had planned this out for weeks…perhaps two weeks in particular. She remembered how sheepish he had gotten after she (loudly, vehemently) expressed her appreciation for him being rougher than he usually was after an over-productive night of crime fighting. He insisted that he had been careless for “losing control”, but that phrase had only served to fuel her fire. But as hot as Peter might be when he’s a bad ass in a suit, she regretted pushing him that way.

“Is this because of what I said last time? Because I don’t want you to make yourself uncomfortable just because you think it’ll make me happy, or turned on, or whatever.”

“But that’s exactly why I would make myself uncomfortable.”

“ _Peter Parker._ ” She resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose in frustration.  
He kisses the corner of her mouth and pulls off his mask. “I wanna try it for you. I think I even might like it…maybe too much,” He starts, his eyes betraying all the worry and apprehension she had expected. “But I don’t want to hurt you. You have to promise me you’ll tell me to stop if you don’t like something- even just a little bit.” His hands shake as he holds the mask in his hands, eyes glued to the floor. He was scared.

“Okay, I’ll tell you. But you’re not going to hurt me,” She replied, taking his face in her hands, forcing him to look her in the eye.

“How do you know that?”

“Because I won’t let you. Put the mask back on,” She smiles at him, and the corner of his mouth tugs upwards.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Be gentle, this is my first time ever writing something like this and it's completely unbeta'. ; w;

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, let me know in the comments if you want to see more like it! :)

They pick up where they left off, hearts racing and skin tingling. Peter pulls her toward him, fisting his hands in the back of her night gown. “Turn around.” She’s sure he meant it as an order, but it comes out more like a suggestion. Even so, she feels the butterflies in her stomach start to take off.

  
Gwen bites down experimentally on his bottom lip. “Make me,” she playfully murmurs against his mouth, eyes half-lidded and cheeks flushed. She pushes her breasts against his chest, and can feel his heart racing against her own.

  
So he does. Tense and eager, Peter flips her around by the hips and pulls her flush against him, and nudges her legs slightly apart with his thigh. She becomes acutely aware of the wetness between her legs when his erection presses against her ass. His mouth is on her before she can even whimper, biting down on her neck and shoulders. She touches what she can, reaching back to run her hands up his thighs, tentative fingers running over the cold rubber veins. She can hear his breath catch in his throat, mouth pressed just below her ear. Gwen turns her head to look at him, and her hand inches closer and closer to his-

  
Then she can’t see, and her hands are bound behind her. Did he put the mask over her eyes?

  
“Not yet,” Peter chides in her ear, and she realizes that his mask must be over her eyes, and she’s pretty sure there’s webbing stuck between her hands. His own are wandering, the rough material of his gloves skirting up the back of her dress, tugging the hem upwards. One squeezes her, the other starting to make circles around the growing wet spot in her underwear.

  
“Bondage already?” Gwen starts to tease him, breathless, rubbing herself against his groin. She isn’t expecting the sharp smack of his hand that follows, and the hot sting it leaves on her ass. Something deep inside her snaps.

  
His other hand is over her mouth before she can even cry out. “Hands to yourself.” He whispers, low and steady.  
“I wasn’t using my hands.” Her own voice is high and wavering. It was by no means a hard spank, but the thought of what he could do makes her knees weak.

  
“Keep talking back and I’ll give you something to do with that mouth.” He tugs her backwards, in what she guesses is the direction of her bed.  
The backs of her legs hitting the mattress affirms her suspicions.

  
Always a scientist first, she starts to ask him what exactly he meant, but then he hooks her legs over his shoulders, and she forgets what words are. She can feel the rush of his breath across her slit, and she’s practically dripping through her underwear. She’s pretty sure this is the most wet she has ever been. She tries to get herself to relax, letting her head fall back.

  
“You smell so fucking good,” Peter is practically moaning. He laves his mouth against the inside of her thigh, before doing the same to the other. She twitches helplessly, almost completely immobile in this position. He hooks his fingers into her underwear and pulls, not even trying to remove it without ripping the fabric.  
Gwen feels her back begin to arch involuntarily as Peter presses his mouth against her, and her heels start to dig into his back. “I want to touch you.” She begs, wrists straining against the webbing.

  
He ignores her, continuing to lazily suck on her clit. She’s getting dangerously close to unraveling. She arches herself upwards, things trembling as she strains to push herself closer to him. A high-pitched whine buzzes in the back of her head and she can’t tell where it’s coming from, until she realizes that it’s coming from her, and a wave of panic hits her. “Peter-“

  
“They can’t hear us, they’re asleep.” He assures her, still focused on the task at hand.

  
“Please-“ She doesn’t even know what she’s asking for. To be able to touch him? To come? Either way, he still ignores her. He buries his face in her, and she tries to quiet herself the best she can as absolutely obscene noises escape her throat. She’s getting closer and closer to release, and her thighs quiver under beneath his tight grip.

  
In the greatest act of mercy that Gwen has ever witnessed, Peter brings her over the edge. The entire room crashes around her, and she feels Peter cover her mouth with his hand, continuing to eat her out through her orgasm. He lets out quiet little moans of his own, and she can feel him grinding against the edge of the bed.

  
After what feels like minutes, Gwen finally comes back down. She slams her head back against the mattress, exhausted. Peter slides her legs off of his shoulders, and to her dismay, steps away from her. A moment later, however, she’s flipped over onto her belly, and she feels Peter’s hands pull her hips upwards. Her hands are still bound behind her back, and the side of her face is pushed against the mattress. She feels completely exposed and vulnerable…and extremely turned on. _Face down, ass up?_

  
“Spread your legs,” Peter’s voice is dark and low, and she doesn’t even have enough time to comply before he does it himself, pulling her hips up and her knees apart roughly. She hears him pull at the fabric of the suit and the crinkling of a wrapper, and without warning she feels the head of his cock push against her entrance.

  
“You should see how good you look like this, so wet for me.” He’s talking so low and so breathy, she can’t even tell if he’s talking to her or to himself. He rubs the head of his cock up and down her slit, fumbling against her clit a few times before finally pushing inside of her. She bites her lip to keep from moaning.

  
Peter doesn’t push completely inside right away, so she tries to push herself against him. “So good, so ready for me,” He nearly whimpers, and she buries him inside of her to the hilt. He grips her by the hips and starts to thrust into her, and with her hands still bound all she can do is arch her ass onto him and moan. Gwen presses her face into the bed to try to dampen the sound, but Peter is having none of it.

  
“Wanna hear you,” He grunts, and starts to rut into her harder.

  
“Too loud, they’ll-“ She begins, but has to push her face into the bed again when he slips two fingers against her clit. “Oh, oh!”

  
He lets out a strangled grunt, but acquiesces. He knows they’re already on the border of too-loud. Before she knows it, the mask is pulled off of her eyes and her head is turned so that her cheek is pressed to the mattress. She nearly comes just as the sight behind her.

  
Peter is drenched in sweat, eyes dark, muscles rippling as he pounds into her from behind. He presses the mask into her mouth, leaning over her and wrapping an arm around her to resume his ministrations on her clit. She wants to scream, but instead scrunches her eyes shut and bites down on the mask.

  
“No, look at me.” Peter’s tone invites no argument. She opens her eyes, and he’s staring right at her.

  
His voice is low, and he’s resumed the demanding pace that he started before. “Next time, you’re gonna scream for me. I’ll take you somewhere in the city, on a rooftop, where no one can see us, and the whole city is gonna hear you scream for me. They’re gonna know that Spider-Man is fucking you so good. I’ll make you feel so good,” He’s rambling to himself now, and she’s getting closer and closer to the edge.

  
With one hand, he pulls her up by her bound hands, so that her back is pressed flush against his chest. She catches a glimpse of them in the mirror across the room, and the sight is so provocative that she has to look away. His fingers rubs furious circles around her clit, and this new angle lets him piston against a spot deep inside of her. She knows that she can’t take much more of this.

  
She lets out a cry around the mask, and she shatters for the second time, her whole body rocking against Peter. He groans and continues to thrust in and out as she clenches around his cock. Moments later, he joins her, pressing his face into her neck and whispering unintelligible things against her skin.

  
They collapse, in silence, and just lay there together for a few moments. Peter pulls the webbing apart, and she rolls over onto her back, exhausted. There’s a dull ache in her arms, and she’s already so (delightfully) sore that she wonders if she’ll even be able to move tomorrow.

  
“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” The worry returns to Peter’s voice sooner than she’d like. 

  
“No, never. That was… _so good_.” For once, Gwen Stacy is at a loss for words. She turns her head to the side to see Peter’s eyes light up, and a grin stretch across his face.

  
“You should talk dirty to me more often. I’m interested in this next time.”


End file.
